When the Tables Turn
by SherlockWho22
Summary: Molly has been struck with a bout of insomnia, and it takes only Sherlock to cure it.
1. Mousy Hooper

**This is rated M for sexual content later on. But for now, mild language.**

A/N: I'm looking for constructive criticism, as this is my very first fanfic. Thanks!

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Molly Hooper most definitely was not in the highest of spirits. Her insomnia had flared up, leaving her exhausted and decrepit. Her small figure was now frail, as she had lost some weight. She practically swam in her lab coat, and to make it worse, large purple bruise-like bags formed under her eyes. Despite her wearing appearance, she did her best to shield it from onlookers by applying more make-up than usual.

At around noon one day, she was hunched over her desk, grumbling to her paperwork. She hoped Sherlock wouldn't come barrelling in as always, but she knew that was wishful thinking. There was hardly ever a day when he wasn't in her lab, fake flirting with her to get into the morgue to see her corpses. She supposed that could be seen as an innuendo, but you can't apply any innuendo to Sherlock Holmes.

She hated how mousy and small he made her feel, but she knew there would never be a day where anything different occurred. He was Sherlock Holmes, and she was Molly Hooper. But, how wrong she could be.

As Molly tried to focus on reading the files, filling in the various forms, and then sorting them into their respective piles, the doors flew open, despite the fact that she had locked them in an attempt to keep Sherlock out. It seemed that even that didn't work. But of course it wouldn't. If you didn't want Sherlock Holmes somewhere, you'd have to weld the doors shut, and in addition barricade it. But she doubted even that would work.

She grumbled slightly to herself. How was it possible to hate someone, but to love them equally as furiously?

"Ah, Molly. Attempting to lock me out, I see." He produced a key from his pocket. "I assure you that it was in vein." He strode towards her so he stood -tall and lanky and so, so gorgeous- in front of her desk.

Molly groaned and glared at his shoes, still unable to look into those overwhelmingly blue eyes. He would no doubt be looking at her in that condescending way of his. Yes, everyone in the world was stupid besides Sherlock Holmes. "There are no bodies in the morgue today for you to examine. Best not waste your valuable time here."

She could feel him watching her. "Insomnia. You've lost at least five pounds. No need to diet now." He stared pointedly at the Weight Watchers booklet she had on her desk.

This was it. Molly Hooper had finally reached her wit's end. A girl could only take so much verbal abuse from the one they loved, after all. Molly's gaze snapped up. "You're such a pretentious bastard! I wasn't looking to lose weight, I was looking to eat better. I don't want you implying or even out-right saying I need to lose weight either. Because I'm healthy. I'm a healthy woman and I have a doctorate and I don't need you bloody well screwing up my mind like you always do. I would like to get through this day of work without incident and go home and try and drown myself in red wine and maybe, just maybe get a wink of sleep. Is an hour, two hours too much to ask for? No, it's not.

"Because I'm a good person. I am a good person, Sherlock. I can't really say the same for you, but I am. I go to church, I donate my clothes. I'm not a bother to my landlady, I don't hurt people. So why in the hell do you get to be able to sleep when you don't choose to, yet when I want to sleep, hell when I need to sleep, I can't?"

Sherlock looked indignant at her outburst. "Molly-"

"No. Shut up. You don't get to smile at me and say a few nice words and make it all better because you hurt me so much and I don't even know if you don't care or you just don't see it but now you know." She heaved in and out, noticing that sometime during her rant she had risen, hands planted on the desk, crumpling a few papers.

Sherlock stood expressionless in front of her as she audibly fumed, breathing laboured. She sat down and fisted her fingers through her hair that she hadn't bothered to put up in the usual side bun or pony tail. She looked down at her hands, which were shaking from exhaustion. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you."

Sherlock didn't say anything for a long while. He just stood motionless, eyes slightly squinted in that deductive face of his. She rolled her eyes. "I've upset you," he finally spoke, voice softer than usual.

Molly scoffed. "Great deduction. You should be a consulting detective." She fake gasped and looked up. "Oh wait." It seemed that exhausted Molly was quite a bitch.

Sherlock glowered at her, still somehow managing to make her look like the stupid one. Though, there seemed to be some unreadable emotion mixed into his eyes. As soon as she'd seen it, it had dissipated. "I have been advised by John not to argue with a woman during her menses. Good day." He turned and stormed out.

Molly's eyebrows rose at the display. What the hell had just happened? She'd yelled at Sherlock, and now it seemed that he was mad at her. Although, that didn't exactly seem like a bad thing. Maybe she would finally be able to get some work done if he were to stay away for a bit.

She sighed. She couldn't imagining surviving a week without Sherlock, which was contradictory from her earlier attempt at keeping him away. Sherlock just muddled her up. Still, she wondered what that look had been. She licked her lips and decided to get back down to work.

She'd taken the night shift, so she was thankful when eight o'clock rolled around. She'd delved right into the paperwork and managed to get the lot of it sorted out and filed away. Although she did have a bit left to do, it was certainly no longer the eyesore that took up the majority of her desk.

She collected her things slower than usual, before punching out and switching off all the lights, making sure are all the doors were locked and everything was in place. She then made her way out the door, waving at Lynn, the receptionist, as she went.

When she got outside, she hailed a cab and then gave him the directions to her flat, before settling back in the seat and watching the traffic through the window. Her breath cast fog against the glass, and she shivered slightly. "Could you turn up the heat?" she asked the cabbie, whom obliged. She thanked him and settled back.

The conversation of earlier between her and Sherlock came rushing back as she popped in her headphones and switched to a slow song to hopefully relax her. The yelling was totally uncalled for, and she decided that she would later call Sherlock and apologise.

When the cab crawled to the curb in front of her flat after about a ten minute ride, she collected her things, before paying and thanking the cabbie. She tugged her coat tighter around her at the bite of the wind, unlocking her front door. She dropped her things in the entryway, closing the door and kicking off her shoes, then hanging up her coat. She picked up her bags and brought them to her bedroom, dropping everything to the bed.

Molly quickly changed into a pair of comfy pyjamas; a pair of shorts and a tank top. She then allowed herself the indulgence of a glass of wine, searching her fridge for any leftovers to devour. When she came up short, she settled on fixing a peanut butter and banana sandwich, before dimming the lights and collapsing on the couch beside Toby, whom yowled his disapproval.

She tugged her blanket around herself, before taking a sip of her wine and pulling Toby into her lap. He burrowed into her blanket as she switched on the telly and flicked through the channels.

When she came upon reruns of Doctor Who, she turned up the volume and dropped the remote on the sofa beside her. She finished off her sandwich, then her wine, resting her head against the arm of the couch. She soon managed to doze off, per the assistance of the alcohol. She'd always been a lightweight.

She was startled awake by the knock at her door.


	2. Drunken Holmes

Molly stared blearily at the clock on her mobile. The glaring white numbers read 02:34. She rubbed her eyes roughly, licking her dry lips. There it was again. The pounding that had awoken her in the first place. She recoiled into the sofa, slightly intimidated by the prospect of what it could be. But then it occurred to her that burglars and criminals didn't generally knock, especially not at two in the morning, so she wobbly stood, making her way to the front door. As she went, she switched on various lights, squinting as her eyes took time to adjust.

She roughly tugged down her small pyjama shorts and nudged Toby off the door mat. How he had migrated there in the night was beyond her. It was even more beyond her that she'd actually slept more than a half an hour. It made her internally rejoice. Maybe it was her spilling of emotions to Sherlock that allowed her mind some peace. Still, she pulled open the front door.

"Sherlock?" she asked incredulously. He stood leaning against her doorjamb, his posture hunched and so very unlike him. "What are you doing in here?" She noted that he stunk of various varieties of alcohol.

"John has gone to Dublin and took my key. He said that I 'need to get out more and maybe you should go visit your mother'." Sherlock hiccupped slightly. "I don't want to see mummy. I need somewhere to stay."

Molly sighed and let him in, closing the door securely behind herself. She watched as he strode to stand in the middle of the living room floor, glancing around. She suddenly felt very self conscious in her small pyjama shorts and bra-less tank top.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Tea, then?"

Sherlock shrugged off his jacket and dropped it and his scarf in the middle of the floor. He stepped over the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch. "Yes."

Molly busied herself in the kitchen with the tea. When the water finally boiled, she poured it out into the mugs, returning to the living room, handing one off to Sherlock. She sipped from her own, sitting opposite him in a chair.

"So… erm," she began. "Are you going to tell me why you are drunk? I mean, I reserve the right to know. After all, you're in my flat."

Sherlock downed his tea in record time. She cringed as she watched him, for the water had been boiling. He didn't speak for a moment, instead choosing to stare up at the ceiling mindlessly.

"Because I was feeling things." He pressed his lips into a firm line.

"What sort of things?" Molly spoke slowly.  
Sherlock rolled over on the sofa to stare at the telly, which was still on from when she'd fallen asleep. "Emotions."

Molly licked her lips and watched him intently. "What sort of emotions?"

Sherlock huffed drunkenly and fidgeted. "I don't know. I've never felt it before so I don't know what it is."

Molly scooted her chair closer to the sofa. "Well, what did it feel like?"

Sherlock's eyes drooped shut, and for a moment, she thought he would fall asleep. But soon, his striking icy blue eyes flashed open, and so did his mouth. "It's odd and wonderful and painful all at once."

Molly cocked her head slightly to the side. "What is it that you are feeling this towards?"

Sherlock licked his lips and sat up. "It does not matter." Suddenly, his face contorted and he bolted down the hall to the loo. Molly placed her mug on the coffee table and trailed after him. She figured he most likely knew where the bathroom was anyways.

She pressed open the door and peered inside, watching Sherlock hunched over the toilet, wretching into the bowl. She cringed outwardly at the sight. She knelt beside him, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

"I've got some Paracetamol for your head later." She took a plastic cup from the dispenser beside the sink, turning on the tap to pour some water into it. She handed the cup to him after he finished vomiting.

"Thank you," he murmured, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. She let her hands fall to her lap as she knelt beside him.

"Why did you drink so much?" After a moment's thought, she reached forth and ran her fingers along the curls of his head. Surprisingly, he didn't push her away.

"You made me think earlier. So much that it pained my mind." He licked his lips and downed the water.

Molly dipped her head slightly. "About that. I feel the need to apologise. It wasn't my place to scold you in such a manner. I was just tired, and I'm sorry."

Sherlock watched her for a moment, before standing. "No, your words were appreciated, and are not misbegotten. I often use you, and I thoroughly apologise for my actions."

Molly rose as well, although his height was slightly intimidating. She stepped back and out of the bathroom. She returned to the living room, sitting down on the couch. She watched as he seated himself, too.

"Is that the entire reason for your drunken bout?" Molly suppressed a giggle. She never would have imagined Sherlock drunk, and she supposed it was a funny sight.

"I think I'm in love." His voice was small and meek, so unlike him.

Molly's brow furrowed, but then just as quickly unfurrowed. "With whom?" Oh. "With John?" The fact that he was drunk and in her own setting made her feel more confident than usual.

Sherlock's gaze snapped to her. "No. What ever gave you that hideous notion?"

Molly shrugged stupidly. "I dunno. Everyone thinks you too are… domestic. You spend lots of time together, live together… I don't know."

"We are flatmates and friends. Absolutely nothing more." Sherlock cast a withering look towards her.

Molly scowls. "Well then who for?"

Sherlock bit his lip warily. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath, indicating the fact that he was still drunk, although he'd sobered a bit. "You."

"Me?" She spluttered. "That's impossible."

"I'm positive that it's indeed possible." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes slightly.

Molly shook her head. "But you're Sherlock Holmes and I'm Molly Hooper."

"Yes, we've established this," he dismissed her, clearly annoyed.

"But you can't have feelings for me. I'm me and you're you."

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. "Tell me then, why the hell not?"

"Because you're amazing and brilliant and perfect and I'm plain and normal and regular."

"You are far from regular, Molly." He replied. "You are fantastic. I just wish that I would have seen it sooner. I was too caught up in myself to see it."

Molly shook her head. "You're drunk. You're drunk and delirious and I'm going to hurt in the morning. Hell you're going to hurt in the morning."

"No, Molly. Listen to me. I care for you." He touched her wrist with his thumb, causing her to whip her arm back, as if she was burned.

Exhausted tears sprung to her eyes. "No. Please. Please don't hurt me like this. You don't care for me."

"Yes, I do," he growled, jaw tensing.

She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks in long streaks. "No. You don't."

Sherlock stared at the floor, clearly angry. "If I told you in the morning I loved you, you wouldn't believe me?" It didn't sound like a question.

"But you won't, because you're drunk now. You won't even remember this. I'll remember it," she sobbed into her wrist, feeling quite pathetic and hurt.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. You don't understand. I drank because of my feelings for you. I thought that it would assist in concealing my emotions, but the alcohol only served in heightening them considerably."

Molly didn't say anything.

Sherlock rose on wobbly legs. "I'll leave then."

"No!" Molly called. "Please don't."

Sherlock shook his head. "You've wounded me, Molly."

Molly stood and moved after him as he dawned his outerwear. "Now you see what you do to me daily."

Sherlock turned towards her. "I cannot change the past, but I can learn from my mistakes for the future."

Molly worried her bottom lip. "But you don't mean any of this. Earlier today we were fighting and I don't know, maybe you felt guilty. But I know that you don't have feelings for me. Y-you're asexual."

Sherlock's facial expression looked almost torn as his palm came to rest on the knob of the door. "You won't believe me."

Molly shook her head slowly.

"Then I must take my leave." Sherlock moved to open the door. "Goodnight."

Molly quickly darted in front of him, pressing her body flush to the door. "No! I won't let you leave!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Move."

"No."

"Move."

"No."

"MOVE."

"NO."

"Move right now, God dammit." His voice was low and harsh, a tone she had heard him use in dealing with others, but never to her. It made her feel hollow.

Molly winced, but did not move. "Please, just stay and we can… talk."

"There is nothing to speak about. You are outright rejecting me and I am in pain, Molly. There is anguish in the heart I never knew I had."

Molly sobbed quietly, but still did not move.

Sherlock's frown turned into a sneer. It seemed his mood jumped precariously when he was drunk. "Move."

Molly deftly shook her head, pressing back tighter against the door.

In one swift motion, Sherlock had shoved her out of the way, and slipped out the door. "Goodnight." He slammed it shut.

His shove had sent her spiralling into the coat rack, smacking her head against the wall in the process. She curled into a ball and sobbed into herself.

What had she done?


	3. Concussed and Mad

****A/N: I am seriously overwhelmed by the response to this. Thank you all so much for reading! I'm hoping to make this quite lengthy. Please leave comments! I love comments! I dance every time I get an email! :D

Again, thank you all so incredibly much!

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***One week later.***

Hey Mols, you seen Sherlock? He's got his phone switched off. -GL

No, and I don't plan on seeing him anytime soon. -MH

Oh God, what'd he do this time? -GL

Nothing. It doesn't matter. -MH

Of course it matters. Come now. -GL

He gave me a bloody concussion. -MH

What? I knew he had problems, but not that sort! -GL

What happened? -GL

We had a fight early on in the day last week, then he came to my flat really late, completely plastered, confessing his undying love for me. -MH

So that's what he was on about… -GL

What? What are you talking about? -MH

Oh, nothing. -GL

No, tell me. -MH

We all went out for a drink at the pub -I was actually surprised when he accepted- and after at least ten pints of ale he started spewing shit about how 'aesthetically pleasing' you are, and how his 'heart burned with lust for you'. -GL

… -MH

Yeah.. -GL

I didn't believe him when he told me. -MH

So you haven't seen him since then? -GL

No. -MH

No matter, he's probably at his flat. I'll just pop by. -GL

No, let me. -MH

Molly, you've got a concussion! You shouldn't be leaving your flat! -GL

It's just mild and besides I'm already in the cab. -MH

Molly… -GL

I'll see you later, Greg. -MH

Fine. Later. -GL

Molly watched the traffic through the window in the cab, tugging her coat tighter around herself. The concussion hadn't really helped with her sleeping problem, as expected. She'd had to restock her meagre supply of Paracetamol and constantly had an ice pack on her head. She'd taken a well-needed week off of work, though, and spent most of her time on the couch, ordering take away and cuddling with Toby, much to his displeasure.

She couldn't help but think that it all could have been avoided if she would have just agreed with Sherlock, and then maybe worked up the courage to speak with him in the morning about it. Still, what's done is done and she most definitely was not a time traveler.

When the cab finally reached Baker Street and slowly crawled to the curb of 221B, she wearily paid the cabbie, before collecting her purse and climbing out. She tugged her scarf and coat tighter around her still, before knocking once, twice, three times on the door. To avoid an awkward confrontation, as Sherlock would most likely have told John about the transpirations of the previous week, she hoped furiously to herself that John was at work.

After waiting for someone to answer for nearly five minutes, she huffed impatiently and pushed open the door. It was eerily quiet as she closed it behind herself. Mrs. Hudson's overhead light outside her respective door was switched off, indicating that she wasn't in.

Molly quietly kicked off her shoes and hangs her coat up, padding slowly up the stairs. She glances around the homey flat, smiling at the face yellow on the wall lined with bullet holes. She licks her lips and finds her way down a narrow hallway, and ventures to the end. Smoke filters through the crack along the bottom of the door, curling into delightful puffs as light filters through another point in the flat, slicing clear through. Molly presumed that to be Sherlock's room.

She slowly pressed the door open without knocking, knowing that Sherlock would swiftly dismiss her if she was to do such.

She didn't say anything as she stepped over the threshold into his small room. She looked down to see Sherlock sprawled out on the floor, cigarette clasped between two fingers, eyes closed. One wall was lined entirely by overflowing book cases of various mismatched heights, while another contained a large window concealed by billowing navy curtains.

"Weak arches, not John. Mrs. Hudson knocks." His eyes flashed open. "It's _you_."

Molly frowned and tugged at her sleeve. "Yeah, uh, hi."

Sherlock's eyes drooped shut once more as he took a long drag from his cigarette. "What would you like?" He exhaled as he spoke, smoke curling up from his tongue.

Molly closed the door behind herself, and sat down cross legged on the cold hardwood. "Greg's looking for you."

"I know. I shut off my phone for a reason. Now, good day." He set the fag on his perfect parted lips and took another long draw.

Molly huffed and crossed her arms. She stood up to him once, she wasn't going to allow him to push her around anymore. She was strong. She was a strong woman. "Thanks for the concussion, by the way. _Really _helped me sleep." She cast a scathing look in his general direction.

Sherlock's eyes flashed open, pulling the cigarette away from his lips. "I did not mean to cause you harm."

Molly scowled. "Well, you did." She tapped her injured temple lightly.

"Coat rack or wall." He took another slow drag.

Molly reached forth and took a cigarette from the open pack lying beside him without permission, before lighting up and drawing long and hard.

Sherlock grunted slightly, but said nothing.

"Both, actually," she said after a moment.

He didn't say anything, just silently dragged on his cigarette.

After a long moment, she sighed. "So… erm-"

Sherlock rolled over and sat up, facing her. "You are invading my personal space, and I must ask you to leave."

Molly frowned at him, before standing up. "Fine." She stubbed the fag into her palm in what she hoped was a sexy manner (if it was even possible to be sexy towards Sherlock) despite the pain, before flicking the butt at his forehead. She hit him dead center in the middle of his forehead, earning a heavy-set glower.

With that, she spun and thrust open the door, striding out. She hoped to surprise Sherlock, but knew that was highly unlikely. She collapsed on his sofa, curling into a ball strangely close to the position he usually took on.

About five minutes later, she heard soft foot steps approaching her, and then the couch dipped as he sat at her feet. "Molly…" His voice was soft and gentle, so unlike his usual guttural, everyone-in-the-world-is-stupid-but-me tone.

She didn't say anything as he slowly moved her feet to make way for himself.

"I told you that I would tell you that I loved you in the morning. I love you."

Molly looked up so slowly. "I know."

"You know?" His brows furrowed. "I thought that you didn't believe me."

"I didn't," she sat up. "But Greg told me."

Sherlock scowled. "Imbecile."

Molly stifled a laugh by biting her lip. "So… erm. Where do we go from here?" She tugged at a stray thread on her trousers.

Sherlock tentatively reached forth and touched her wrist. "You must forgive me, Molly. I am unsure as to how romantic relationships proceed."

Molly nodded slightly, feeling slightly high. "Then let me guide you."

Sherlock nodded abashedly a hint of nervousness in his pale blue eyes. "May I kiss you?"

She nodded furiously. "Please."

Sherlock leaned forward slightly, long fingers moving to fully encircle her small wrist. He dipped his head, and pressed his warm lips against her own. He was inexperienced in this gesture, as she gathered, but he quickly gained knowledge and in turn became better and less nervous.

Molly sighed contently, reaching forth to run her fingers through the soft curls atop his head, relishing the sensation. She never wanted it to end. But there was always that nagging feeling.

Was she just another experiment?


	4. Love Interruption

**A/N: A shout out to Nocturnias, because dude. I freaking love your fic "Love Stories and Tournaments of Lies". We've conversed on tumblr, and then I found out today who you are, and I had a bit of a fangirl moment because you gave me a review and oh my God. Thank you!**

**By the way; a bit of shameless self-promotion. My tumblr is canadiancumberbitch so if you tumble, follow me. ;)**

**Another shout out to my friend Natalie (natwrites on tumblr). You are awesome!**

**Okay, okay. Here's the next chapter.**

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A few hours later, Sherlock and Molly had found themselves at her flat. She'd ordered take-away from the Chinese place Sherlock liked on Baker Street, and switched on the telly to the BBC, where lay more reruns of Doctor Who. Sherlock picked apart the plausibility of the show, and "this so called Doctor, who has never received a medical degree".

She giggled quietly to herself, although she did feel compelled to defend the Doctor. "He actually has a degree in both medicine and cheese making."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "If you are a time traveler, what's the point of such a frivolous thing?"

Molly shrugged and laughed. "I don't know. To be able to make cheese!"

He said nothing more on the subject, until the next re-run episode. "It's impossible to speak baby! All they say is a bunch of muddled gibberish mixed with cooing and various disturbing noises," Sherlock yelled at the screen as the Doctor announced he could speak baby to Amy Pond.

Molly sighed. "Sherlock, the TARDIS translates all forms and dialects of languages. He's 900 years old. Of course he can speak baby."

Sherlock glowered and crossed his arms, but said nothing more. Molly just chuckled quietly and ate from her take-away container.

Aside from Sherlock's incessant rantings, she felt completely content just sitting on the couch with him, watching him watch Doctor Who. As she allowed herself the indulgence of simply staring at him, she flushed with embarrassment as his gaze snapped to meet hers.

"Problem?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

She shook her head quickly. "Of course not. Everything is perfect. You're perfect."

Sherlock watched her for a moment. "But there's something more."

She sighed and blushed deeper. "I know it sort of early to be asking, but I was just wondering... If you were ever planning on having sex with me."

Sherlock looked away, thinking for a moment. "To be honest, I've never experienced coitus. I've ignored such trivial biological urges from an early age."

Molly squeaked ever so slightly. "Oh."

His icy eyes snapped to hers. "You would like to perform copulation." It was not a question.

She blushed. "I haven't had sex in nearly three years. And, well, two people that love each other tend to have intercourse." She licked her lips. "I mean, we can wait, of course. I'm not trying to rush you. We've only been together for a few hours."

Sherlock nodded deftly. "I am inexperienced in that area, save for the research videos I examined on Johns laptop. But I believe that I would be willing to attempt it."

Molly blushed more furiously. How did he not find that remotely embarrassing? "Oh."

Sherlock licked his lips. "I suppose it would serve as an interesting experiment."

Molly laughed tightly. God, was her thoughts of earlier true? Was she just an experiment?

But all that was drowned out when Sherlock leaned forward, planting his lips on hers. The kiss was slightly sloppy, but she could imagine him working down the mechanics in his head to a simple science. The movements slowly became more precise, his arms winding deftly around her waist. Molly's hands snaked up his sides to wind in his hair. She moaned ever so slightly as he nibbled at her bottom lip, before forcing her mouth open with his.

She leaned back on the couch, allowing Sherlock space to crawl on top of her and trace his hands up her stomach. When he was just about to tug off her shirt, his phone buzzed.

Sherlock groaned and leaned back, pupils thoroughly dilated, breathing laboured and displaced. He scanned the screen and rocked back on his knees. "I apologise for the interference, but there is a case for me to attend to. "

Molly pouted slightly, but sighed. "Fine. I'll see you later."

Sherlock nodded and rose, adjusting his clothing, tucking his shirt back into his trousers. "Good day." She watched him collect his possessions, before exiting her flat.

She sighed and glanced at Toby, who'd jumped up on the couch at Sherlock's departure. "Guess it's just you and me again, love." She stroked his fur deftly, enjoying the sound of his purr.

After finishing the episode of Doctor Who on the telly, she switched it off, turning instead to her stereo. She plugged in her phone and hit shuffle. The first song that came on was Spark's Fly by Taylor Swift, and she sang loudly and slightly out of tune along with it as she cleaned up the various take-away containers.

As she went, cleaning up spills she'd been meaning to get to days ago, but had felt far too washed out and exhausted to, she couldn't help but relate the song to how she felt about Sherlock. But, now they were together, and she wouldn't look too deeply into things.

Once she was finished cleaning up the counters and disposing of the garbage, packing up the remainder of the leftovers into Tupperware containers and stacking them like Tetris blocks in the fridge, she began deftly sweeping the floor.

When she was all finished about two hours later, and her house was thoroughly cleaned, she poured herself a glass of wine. The song on the stereo switched to What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction. Molly loved that song dearly. She began frolicking around the living room, screaming out the lyrics.

As she began jumping backwards at one point in the song, her back hit something tall and hard. With a gasp, she fumbled away, almost toppling to the floor, were it not for the arm's that shot out to steady her.

"Sherlock! God! You scared me half to death!" Her hand went to rest on her chest as she surveyed his smirking face.

He released her forearms and chuckled quietly. "Stick to pathology."

She stuck her tongue out at him childishly. "So how'd the case go?"

Sherlock scowled as he tugged off his leather gloves. "Tedious. The butcher did it."

Molly nodded slightly and moved to turn off the stereo. As she sat on the couch, she noticed Sherlock watching her intently. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just odd, is all."

"What's odd?" she asked, brows furrowing.

He shrugged lightly and seated himself beside her. "That song. He's telling her she's beautiful, so would not she learn that she's beautiful through this song? And he says that because she is not aware of her beauty, that is what makes her appealing. So if she becomes aware, she is now unappealing? Not to mention that if she gains a significant amount of male attention, she should know that she is pleasing."

Molly stared at him, eyebrow slightly raised. "You're a spoil sport."

"How? I'm just stating a fact. This song is just like all other meaningless pop songs. It's only meant to _sound _good. They might as well have put _blah blah blah blah_ instead of lyrics." He pulled his knees to his chest.

She rolled her eyes, not willing to argue with Sherlock. He took on that condescending air whenever he got into a rant, so she just let him go until he blew off his steam. "Are you done?"

Sherlock blinked for a few moments, before nodding.

"Okay," she murmured elaborately, switching on the telly.

"Okay," Sherlock said back.


	5. Holmes and Hooper

**A/N: This is really short and I'm sorry but it seemed fitting to end there. I'm working on the next chapter now, and I hope to be able to post it either tonight or tomorrow. **

**I'm still trying to figure out if I like this chapter or not, so please let me know. **

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When Molly awoke the next morning, she noticed that she had somehow migrated to her bed. She figured that either she didn't remember moving to her bed (it wouldn't have been the first time), or it had to do with Sherlock. She would have bet on the latter.

She blearily stood, scrubbing at her eyes. She walked with her eyes closed to the kitchen, wherein she smelled toast and orange juice. Her eyes flashed open just as Sherlock shoved a plate and a filled cup in her hands. "Eat swiftly, then be changed in ten. There's a case."

Molly scowled and groaned. "I'm the behind-the-scenes crime fighter. I'm not into almost being killed on a daily basis."

Sherlock scoffed. "It's hardly on a daily basis. There is _at least _a few day intervals."

She rolled her eyes and stuffed the food into her mouth, washing it down with the orange juice. She had a quick shower, before battling the rat's nest atop her head, applying minimal makeup, and changing into presentable clothing.

When she was all finished, she returned to the living room to see Sherlock tapping his foot impatiently. He stood quickly at the sight of her, taking her hand and tugging her out the door as soon as she'd dawned her outerwear. She groaned as she was softly shoved into the cab, and Sherlock commanded the cabbie to venture downtown. She pouted idly to herself the whole way.

Once they'd reached their destination, which was marked by Sherlock's bouncing around in the seat and his yelling's to "hurry the hell up!", they swiftly climbed out. That was when she looked up and daftly noticed they were at Downing Street.

"And what do we have here?" Mycroft asked Sherlock expectantly, nodding towards Molly. He stood with one arm idly propped on his umbrella handle.

Sherlock knelt in front of the body, tugging latex gloves onto his hands. "This is my girlfriend. Although I suppose you already knew that."

Mycroft picked boredly at his nails, the hint of a condescending smile at his lips. "Of course, brother."

Sherlock stood and directed Molly, who felt clunky and out of place in front of the feuding Holmes brothers, to the body.

"What can you tell me?" Sherlock asked her as Molly silently knelt. She could see how Mycroft outwardly cringed away from the body, a grimace carved along his crooked nose. Whereas, Molly, did not even blink twice at the gruesome sight before them.

"Cause of death is a blow to the head, possibly from a barbed object such as a crow bar, or," she touched the wound with a gloved hand. "Or barbed wire, which caused sub-cranial haemorrhaging." She didn't move the body, but softly dragged her finger along the surface of the chubby man's coat. She lifted her finger to examine the substance. "There's a fine layer of dust on his clothing, indicating he'd recently been out of country in a dusty, desertous area. Possibly Arizona, although his clothes indicated something more localised. Not _local_ local, but on the same continent local."

"Try Tibet," Sherlock piped in.

Molly nodded, slowly rising. "I believe that's all." She looked up hopefully at Sherlock. Had she done well?

Sherlock smirked, clearly impressed. "Bravo, Miss Hooper. Remind me to bring you along instead of John. Although you did miss many fundamentals, I've already gathered more than enough evidence to begin following a lead."

Mycroft was about to ask for an explanation, but Sherlock was already dragging the mousy pathologist out the door.

They hailed another cab, and they were off. It took a Molly a few moments to speak, but when she finally did she turned to Sherlock, mouth slightly agape. "Sherlock, please tell me that was not the prime minister."

He didn't confirm nor deny, so she took that as a cue to continue. "Sherlock! Holy shit!"

Sherlock shrugged idly. "The only difference it makes is it widens the area of possibility when it comes to our murder, which would be unfortunate, if I were not on the case."She rolled her eyes. "Must be a Holmes trait. Self-centeredness."Sherlock didn't say anything. Instead, he chose to stare idly out the window. Molly sighed. "So, where are we going?""You're place of employment, of course."Molly nodded slowly. "Need to run a few tests?"Sherlock shook his head. "You have work and I have a lead to follow."Molly's expression dropped. It felt exhilarating, tagging along with Sherlock. She'd only been with him for a short while, but she could already start to feel why John enjoyed it so much. It was an adrenaline rush, and she hadn't even been in a chase they pulled up outside Bart's she turned and planted a kiss on his jaw. "I'll see you later then, I suppose." He nodded and she departed.


	6. The Butler Did It

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting. I've been a bit busy the last couple of days.**

**This chapter may or not be a bit diluted, as it was written at three in the morning, eyes completely shut.**

**Still, hope you enjoy! Please leave feedback, as well.**

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After a relatively short day's work, Molly's shift came to a close. She quickly made sure everything was in place, collected her things, and locked up, then left the a short ride home, she unlocked her flat, only to be met an overwhelmingly delicious aroma. Her brows furrowed as she closed the door behind her, kicking off her shoes, and hanging up her coat and scarf. She'd figured that she'd have a bit of time to herself; that Sherlock would go back to his respective flat. But either he was still there or Toby had made the most delicious thing she'd ever smelled. The latter did not seem plausible.

After dropping her bags on the sofa, she quickly made her way into the kitchen, eyebrows raising at Sherlock as he sat perched on one of her table chairs, elbows on the table, finger pads pressed against each other, chin atop his finger tips. He'd made Spaghetti Bolognese, and it was only then that she realised just how incredibly famished she was.

"I didn't know you could cook." She could see that her words had broken him out of his thoughts. She silently cursed herself for disturbing him.

She expected him to scold her, but all he said was, "It all boils down, no pun intended, to fundamental sciences. I could elaborate, but you most likely would not understand half the terminology. Not your area of expertise."

She sighed and sat down across from him. She was used to him treating others like idiots, but now that they were together, he couldn't do that. "Sherlock, you can't talk to me like that anymore. Not that you ever should have before. But you definitely cannot now."

Sherlock's brows furrowed, fingers falling from their steeple against the underside of his throat. "In what negative manner am I speaking to you in?"

She stared at him flatly. "You practically just called me stupid."

"I was not calling you stupid, merely stating a fact."

"Exactly," she said, hoping he'll see the point. "And the point is, I'm your girlfriend now, and not that it was a good thing, the way you spoke to me before, but it can't continue."

He watched her momentarily, before nodding. "Alright."

"Alright?" she was confused at his quick resignation. She would have expected him to fight her a little more on the subject..

He nods. "I suppose I see my err in ways, and I apologise for my actions."

Molly licked her lips and breathed in sharply. "Well, that's a first."

He ignored her, instead turning his gaze to the food on the counter. "Help yourself. You will have leftovers, and will be through with them before you get tired of Spaghetti Bolognese."

She smiled gratefully and stood, taking a plate out to shovel some one. It smelled even more appealing much closer. She glanced back at Sherlock. "You don't want any, right? You don't usually eat while your working." Her eyes went wide and she snapped back around. "Not that I've noticed."

She was startled by his low, throaty chuckle. "Quite an acute observation, Molly. Well done. You'll also do well to take note that I only drink coffee while I'm working cases. Speaking of which, could you possibly pour me a glass?"

Molly obliged, sliding back into her seat opposite him. She ate slowly, savouring the delicious tastes. "God, Sherlock," she couldn't help but moan out. "This is absolutely delightful."

Sherlock grinned, clearly pleased with his work. "Thank you. I've never cooked before."

Her jaw momentarily dropped, but she quickly closed it so as not to seem idiotic in Sherlock's presence. "Really? That's- wow."

Sherlock chuckled quietly. "As I stated afore, it all boils down to fundamental sciences."

She nodded. _Guess I'm in the wrong department. _She finished her food. "So, any luck on the case?" she asked as she cleaned up the dishes and put the leftovers away.

"It was quite tedious, although one lead was fulfilling. A man going by the name of Joseph Centavo was the Prime Minister's body guard. Although I know his whereabouts, and I have been tracking him for a good portion of the day, I've not been successful in contacting him in person. So, I'll need to work some sort of disguise out tomorrow."

"Why don't you just ask Lestrade to arrest him?" Molly suggested.

Sherlock shook his head. "What fun would that be? No, I prefer to gather all of my evidence on my own, or with my companions."

She smiled wryly. "Anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head once more. "There's nothing I can do much as well. I have to wait until tomorrow rolls around. You do not have work, so would you accompany me?"

Molly couldn't help but feel flattered. It was amazing enough that Sherlock Holmes wanted her along one time, but two? That was just mind-boggling. "Of course! I mean, I'd love to."

He nodded. "Great. John is not back from his mother's yet, so it works out."

She swallowed. "Have you told him about… us yet?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I'd rather do it in person with you present."

Molly smiled faintly. "I suppose that's a better idea."

He nodded. "I thought so."

Molly nodded slowly, before rising. "Telly then?"

Sherlock followed, but said nothing until they sat. She hadn't noticed the violin case beside the chair he sat perched in before. "Would you mind if I played? It helps me think."

Molly tried not to grin too big, but on the inside, she was feeling ecstatic. She'd always admired his playing ability, in the time she'd known him. "Of course! No! Not at all!" She tugged her feet up on the couch, curling them under her.

He nodded elaborately, taking his violin carefully from it's case. He swept the bow across the strings in one fluid movement, the sound piercing and eary. He then began.

His fingers moved slowly along the neck as the bow glided back and forth across the finely tuned strings. She could tell that he took great care of his instrument, and that it was also extremely expensive. She clasped her hands together as she watched him, an endearing grin spread upon her face.

The tune was somewhere between upbeat, and sad. More of a mellow tone. She could feel her own mind start to work better under the influence of the soft music. His eyes stared off into oblivion as he played, not missing a note for the world.

Suddenly, he stopped playing, bolting upright. "That's it!"

Molly's eyebrows furrow, but she doesn't dare ask.

"Of course that's it! It was there all along! I'm wasting valuable time chasing after the body guard, when he was not even remotely involved. It was the butler!" He quickly stowed his violin.

Molly's brows furrowed sceptically. "Are you sure? I mean, don't you think it's a bit cliché?"

It was Sherlock's turn to brow-furrow. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

Molly nods. She'd heard him say that quite a bit. She supposed it was true with the cases he often worked.

Sherlock began pacing back and forth. "The scuff on his shoe indicated he'd been careless at one point or another. He was the Prime Minister. He couldn't afford to be careless. So it was deliberate. It could've been a blow towards his wife, but he doesn't often wear a wedding ring, as his fingers are far too thick to allow them on.

"It was more likely towards a mistress or more likely a secret side girlfriend whom purchased those shoes for him for Christmas. His watch broke when he fell, giving us the time of death, and all other suspects on my list are accounted for. Besides the butler. Oh no, the butler was madly in love with him. Driven by lust, he hit him over the head with a crow bar. He soon became panicked and fled."

Molly just watched Sherlock and listened intently. It was truly remarkable how large details could be gathered from such little things. She supposed she was moderate at deduction, but obviously no where near to Sherlock.

Molly hugged her knees to her chest, tugging at a stray thread on her blouse. "Will you be coming back after, or will you just go to your flat?"

"I don't know," he said distractedly. "I will decide when the moment comes."

Molly nodded elaborately. "Alright. Well I suppose I'll see you then." She stood and planted a kiss on his lips. "Stay safe, love."

Sherlock bowed slightly, before charging out the door.

Molly decided to take a well deserved bath. She laid there until her fingers and toes were pruned. At that point, she quickly washed off the remainder of the soap, before standing and drying herself off. That night, maybe she would have a goodnights sleep. She sure hoped she would.


	7. No Interruptions

**A/N: And the sexy times commence. Sorry for the wait on this chapter.**

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And so the days went by, and soon it had been exactly three months since Sherlock had confessed his attraction to Molly. Their routine went like this.

Molly would go to work in the morning, and come back to find Sherlock with dinner already prepared. There were a few odd days when he was on a particularly blistering case, and he wouldn't be there, but Molly didn't mind. She didn't want to be a clingy girlfriend who couldn't get on with her life when Sherlock wasn't there.

On those days, she would prepare her own dinner, feed Toby, get some paperwork done she'd been putting off, and then fall asleep on the couch watching telly.

Then there were days that she'd have off, and Sherlock would bring her to lunch or dinner, (never breakfast; he didn't eat breakfast, not that he ate much at all) and then if he had a case and John was busy with his new girlfriend Mary, or he had work, she'd tag along on a case.

At night, they'd usually start out watching telly, Sherlock arguing with the plausibility of each and every show she watched, and picking apart her music tastes. But she wouldn't have it any other way, because while she acted offended, she actually loved hearing how imperfect everything in the world actually was.

And then later they'd end up snogging (Sherlock conceded that he quite enjoyed kissing), but they always seemed to get interrupted right when they were about to take their clothes off.

Molly was getting frustrated. She wanted to be with Sherlock, and it seemed as if the universe wanted anything but that. But she wasn't about to give up. She'd always been stubborn.

So one night, while Sherlock was distractedly yelling at the screen as they watched one of his favourite trash programmes, she switched off his phone. She would have her way.

She leaned her head against his shoulder contentedly, and he wrapped and arm tightly around her waist, rubbing her hip slightly with the flat of his palm. And then he glanced down at her in that intense way of his, all blue eyes and pale skin, high cheekbones and delicious lips.

She took the chance, leaning forward to press her lips to his. Her eyes fluttered shut as he began kissing her back, his long arms reaching forth to wrap around her neck loosely. Her breath became hot and uneven as he pressed himself further into him.

Suddenly, he pulled away, pushing her down onto the sofa, climbing on top of her. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes she'd never before seen. She suppressed a giggle as he began to nip and suck at the taut skin of her neck, planting even kisses along the column of her throat.

"Naughty Miss Hooper. I am aware that you shut off my phone."

She gasped out as his hands slid up her blouse to cup her breasts, despite being covered by the thin material of her bra. "Well, I'm tired of being interrupted."

She wound her fingers through the curls atop his head, and moaned out, arching her neck to give him better access.

Sherlock made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. "I concur. Bedroom?"

She nodded furiously and allowed him to pick her up and carry her bridal style to the bedroom. Upon reaching it, she was dropped onto the bed as he stripped his shirt, and climbed predatorily towards her. She giggled as he hooked his thumbs into her trousers, and pulled them and her knickers down in one fluid movement.

She worked at his belt, trying and failing to pull it off. She growled in frustration, causing Sherlock to chuckle. He leaned back and undid the belt, tossing it to the floor. Molly tugged his mouth back to hers as he reached around her and undid her bra, tossing it among the pile of clothing littering the bedroom floor.

She gasped as he kissed her breasts, arching into him. There was too much material between them. She wanted him _now_. She growled once more, noting how Sherlock's eyes darkened considerably at the noise. She worked his trousers off his thin hips, kissing him roughly.

Soon, his trousers were on the floor, and all that was left were his tented boxers. It made her stomach writhe. She slowly hooked her thumbs into the waistband, tugging them down. She could practically taste his embarrassment, and chose to ignore the slight tinge on his cheeks. He wouldn't appreciate it much if she were to call him out on it.

She tossed his boxers to the floor, kissing his neck to quiet her intense breathing. "You're so big," she couldn't help but whisper.

His baritone chuckle broke the endless silence as he nuzzled his nose against her neck. "Is that a good thing?"

She nodded quickly. "It's a very good thing."

He laughed quietly and kissed her neck. "That's good."

She kissed him again, rougher and more heated, his hands gripping her waist tightly as she wrapped a hand around him. He gasped into her mouth, and she swallowed it, pressing her tongue harder against his.

He pulled away, letting his forehead fall to hers. "Molly, Molly. Please be careful. I'm very… sensitive. I've never been … touched before." She brushed her fingers across his reddening cheeks and kissed his mouth softly.

"That's not a bad thing, Sherlock. Don't be embarrassed." He nodded and kissed her again. She slowly moved her hand up him, his fingers dancing against her breast. He gasped out and pushed her hand away. "No, no. Stop. I don't want to end like that."

She reached around him and opened her bedside table, pulling out the box of condoms and handing him one. He tore it open with his teeth, rolling it down to his base.

Sherlock shifted himself to her entrance. She bit down hard on her lip as he pressed himself into her with a deep, emanating groan from him. She hooked her feet onto the back of his thighs as he began to move inside of her, finding his desired pace easily.

She let her head fall back against the pillow, mouth falling open. She'd never before been with someone so large, and the experience was indescribable. Not to mention that she was with _Sherlock_, the man she'd been pining after for years.

She arched into him, losing herself in the sensations. She noted that his normally icy blue eyes were clouded with lust. "Faster, Sherlock. God."

He obliged, gripping her waist harder. After a few more thrusts, he was gone. His eyes rolled back in his head as he released. The few more half-hearted thrusts caused her to lose it as well with a deep moan, and he slumped against her.

She brushed back his wet curls as he pulled out of her and rolled to the side, stripping the condom from his member and tossing it in the garbage.

He panted deeply. "That was…" He trailed off, and she grinned.

"You were fantastic. For your first time, I mean."

He nodded and licked his lips, clearly breathless. Molly curled into his side, resting her head on his chest.

"Now you know what you've been missing," she giggled.

He laughed and nodded, brushing his fingers through her hair.

She nuzzled her nose into his neck, and kissed him softly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he responded.

Molly fell asleep to the sound of his steady breathing.


	8. The Case of the Shredded Man

**A/N: So incredibly sorry for the hold up with this chapter. The end of the school year and such got me caught up, plus I went to Jamaica early on in May (I honestly don't even remember when the last time I updated was, all I know is that it was a long while ago), and my idiot cousins got my dog pregnant while I was away, in which she just had them. I've been so busy and haven't been able to focus my mind enough to sit and write. So again, I am so incredibly sorry, and I apologise profusely. So without further ado...**

**PS. Check out my new fanfic-colab with my friend Natalie. Only the prologue is posted currently, but I'd love feedback, if that is at all possible. Thanks! :)**

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In the morning, Molly woke to an empty bed. Her heart immediately dropped. Even after three months together, Molly was still overly wary of Sherlock's intentions. She figured at any second, he'd leave at the drop of a hat. Why? She had no idea. She had no reason for distrusting Sherlock, and she truly did trust him with all her soul, but there was something that just kept nagging at her. Three months and they hadn't had sex, three months and they finally did, and he was gone.

Was that what this whole thing was about?

No. Sherlock was not a physical man. He wouldn't be in something as waring as a relationship just for physical release. Especially not for three whole months. Plus, if he wanted that, there were clubs and street corners full of such like ones, willing to provide sexual stimulation. And as far as she knew, he was a well and true virgin, until she so kindly deflowered him.

She warily slid out of the bed, gathering her clothes and sidling into the bathroom. After a quick shower, she towelled herself off and got into her clothes, leaving her hair to air dry.

When she made her way to the living room, she found her coffee table strewn with various photographs, some of which were slightly disconcerting in nature. Her eyebrows furrowed as she watched Sherlock, knees pulled to his chest, eyes staring unblinkingly at the photograph of an obvious crime scene and a dead man.

She decided not to disturb him, letting out a breath at his presence. So he hadn't left her the morning after. She shouldn't have been so relieved, but she was.

She made her way into kitchen, giddily toying with stray strands of damp auburn her. She flicked on the kettle and the coffee maker; tea for herself, coffee for Sherlock. When it was l finished, she went back into the living room.

"Sherlock," she offered tentatively as his gaze snapped to her.

"Morning." His voice was gruff, indicating he'd been speechless for some time. He let his arms and legs fall from their perch on the sofa cushion, reaching to take the cup from her. "Thank you." he sniffed the dark liquid, before swallowing a gulp.

She rolled her eyes and sat down in an arm chair. "Case?"

"Hmm? Yes. Mycroft was set on my solving this case, and it's not exactly tedious so I accepted." He leaned back on the sofa.

She leaned forward and plucked up one of the photographs, wrinkling her nose a bit. She'd see lots of disturbing deaths, (she was a pathologist, after all,) but this one took the cake. The eye sockets were cold and unrelenting. What once were eyeballs, were now pooled, silvery liquid in the ragged holes. The man's body was shredded up, as if a beast had clawed the skin from his bones. A few were protruding from various positions. But one thing was far odder than the rest.

There was no blood.

She slipped the photograph back on the table, sipping quietly from her tea. After a moment, Sherlock glanced up at her. "What do you think?"

Molly glanced up, a bit wide-eyed. Sherlock was asking _her _what _she _thought of the body?

"You're a pathologist. You are well acquainted with death, more so than most. You have first hand experience. What do you think?"

She placed the mug on the coffee table, sliding to the couch beside him, surveying the various photographs. Most were various angles of the shredded man. She chewed her lip and took up one of the glossy photographs; a close up of the man's eyes.

"I have off today and tomorrow so Marcus will probably be performing the autopsy." She traced one of the ragged, liquidy sockets with her index finger.

Sherlock made a small noise of distaste at that.

She ignored him. "I can call in and ask to switch shifts? It's still early."

He nodded quickly and stood dramatically, striding to the other room. She sighed. Was he just going to act like they didn't even have sex the previous night? She supposed it was because he had a case, but she still felt a bit stung.

She threw her hair up in a pony tail as she phoned Marcus. She was able to switch shifts with him without any complications, and soon enough gathered her things. Sherlock emerged a short time later, a dark look in his eyes.

"Will you be coming along, then?" Molly shifted her bag onto her forearm.

He nodded as he wordlessly gathered the photographs and piled them into a briefcase. "I have to stop by the Yard first. I will be around shortly."

Molly licked her lips and shifted uneasily. After a few moments of wordless staring, Sherlock pushed her gently against the wall and began kissing her manically. She let out a small squeal of surprise and looped her arms around his waist, bag falling slack against her wrist.

After a few minutes of heated kissing, he pulled away, nipping softly at her lower lip. "You are positively delicious." She shuddered a bit at his remark and licked her swollen, wet lips.

"I will see you." Sherlock released her, pulling back and gathering up his things.

She cleared her throat and nodded quickly. "Yeah," she squeaked. "See you." With that, she slipped out of the flat, vaguely hearing Sherlock chuckling behind her.


	9. It's a Date

**A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. I swear that I intend to update regularly but I get so distracted. There will be another chapter shortly. Just thought this could hold you all over. I feel horrible for spacing the updates up so much. Sorry again! :(**

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Molly spent the day in the morgue with a small migraine that passed eventually after two cups of coffee, examining the body in question, searching excessively for every minute detail. She took samples and swabbed his mouth and other various shady looking places on his shredded body, recording as she went.

When came time for the autopsy, she carefully sliced open the chest and peeled back the skin, then broke apart the rib cage to check on his lungs, heart, and other vital organs. It seemed Mr. Jeremy Fisher was an intense smoker early on his youth. There were a few marks on his forearms, indicating the possibility of nicotine patches. So he had tried to clean up but was still not entirely keen on keeping healthy. Judging from the state of his kidneys and liver, he was also quite an intense drinker.

Molly spoke her observations out loud to the microphone overhead, tugging it along with her as she carried on with the autopsy. She was so invested in discovering the cause of death, which didn't seem to be the shredding or even the melted eyeballs, that she didn't even hear Sherlock's elaborate arrival until he was sidled up beside her and swooping in for a kiss.

She squealed in shock and nearly dropped the corpse's intestines all over the floor, which evidently would not be very nice to clean up.

"Sherlock!" she yelped out and dropped the organ back into the body, quite ungracefully.

She nearly glared at him, but he looked quite confused. "Have I done something wrong?" He stared at her for a moment, before it seemed to have dawned on him. "Oh, is this about Toby? He was begging for a good kick in the rear!"

Molly stared right back at him for a few moments, before she full on glared. "You /kicked/ my cat? What the hell is wrong with you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked bashful. Well, that was new "Well he-he scratched me and put dander all over my coat and scarf." He straightened soon enough and took a peak over at the body. "Anything discovered yet?"

Molly glowered. "This conversation is not over." She turned back to the body, her gloves thoroughly doused in blood. "Not yet."

Sherlock huffed impatiently and tried to peer over the body to ascertain the cause of death, but Molly nudged him back, shooting him a displeasure full glance.

She reached into the cracked rib cage of the corpse and plucked out the mans heart, weighing it in her already bloodied palms. Sherlock made a small delighted noise and tried to reach for it, but she nudged him away with her hip.

He growled softly under his breath, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist. You can wait. I'm not against calling security, you know."

Sherlock huffed dramatically and turned away from her. "Dinner later, then?" he compromised. "We can discuss the autopsy."

Molly switched back on the microphone over head and made a few notes out loud as she turned to examine they lungs. "Possible cause of death; pulmonary contusion."

She flicked back off the mic and glanced to Sherlock. "Why can't we just discuss it at home?"

Sherlock shrugged and grinned boyishly. "An excuse to go out with you."

Molly laughed. "But I'm your girlfriend. We don't exactly need a reason to go on a date."

Sherlock shrugged. "Its less boring this way."

Molly snorted. "As opposed to any other way?"

He didn't say anything more on the matter, only winked. "I'll pick you up at your flat for six."

Molly hummed softly and placed the ruptured lung on a tray. "Sounds lovely. What sort of dress, then?"

Sherlock's eyes twinkled. "You have that little red dress in the back of your closet, and I ascertain that you will look positively smashing. Wear that." He winked yet again and swooped in for a kiss.

Molly's bloodied hands hovered awkwardly in the air as the kiss lingered for a few seconds longer than it should have. He brushed back her fringe as he pulled away, and kissed her nose.

Molly giggled softly and bit her lip. "I'll see you, then." he nodded and then he was off.


	10. Power Trip

**A/N: I'm hoping to either start a bi-weekly update or even tri-weekly. I'll see how everything plays out. I don't want this story to be too long, and school is coming up soon so I won't write much during that time. I hope to finish it before then.**

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Molly worked well the rest of the day, humming and beaming softly to herself over the prospect of going on a date with Sherlock. Sure, they'd been to dinner. But now their relationship was at a whole new level. They'd had sex. They'd seem the most intimate parts of each other, and had been joined as one.

She shivered softly at the thought as she punched out and collected her things at the end of the day. She wondered if maybe Sherlock would like to have sex again, that night. She shrugs to herself. She wouldn't exactly mind it. He was pretty good, even if he was an apparent virgin until she herself so mercilessly deflowered him.

As she caught the tube home, she thought of where Sherlock would take care, what he himself would wear, and many other things. Soon enough though they were at her stop and she hopped off, walking the next few blocks for home.

She unlocked her flat and slid inside, noting the few hours she had left to kill until she'd need to begin getting ready, as it was only about three PM.

She ate a piece of toast to hold her over and plopped down on the sofa with Toby, before surfing the channels on the telly. Upon finding nothing, she huffed and broke out a book she'd been meaning to read for quite some time.

After getting nearly nowhere in the book from the nerves that made their presence known quite clearly, she gave up and fixed herself a tea in the kitchen. She fed Toby, and stroked him as he ate.

Once Toby was finished and she could no longer contend with stroking a slightly disgruntled cat, she stood and moved to her bedroom to at least rummage through her closet and find everything.

How had he even known she had a red dress in the back of her closet? She supposed he was Sherlock and he probably had been the one doing the rummaging while she was asleep. Still, the thought was odd despite their three month relationship. Sherlock Holmes, rummaging through her closet. Oh, she hoped he hadn't seen those outfits her mum had purchased to encourage grandchildren, apparently.

She groaned softly to herself and tugged out the dress from the back of the closet, hidden by various clothes that to be honest were quite horrid. But she felt so uncomfortable with herself sometimes and she just wanted to hide.

Molly drops the dress on her bed and spins around. No, she shouldn't be like that. What on Earth did she have to hide? She was a relatively attractive woman with a nice body. While she did have average breasts, she wasn't something horrid to behold.

She had a boyfriend now. And not that she should change specifically for him, but sometimes changes are best.

So, with a firm resolve in both her mind and her heart, Molly Hooper went through her meagre collection of clothing and threw out all the frumpy outfits and the horrid, vomit coloured jumpers. She could be confident. She would no longer be as mousy as she used to be around Sherlock, or around anyone for that matter. For now the man was her boyfriend, had been for the past months.

She tosses all of the clothes into a bag and drops it by the door, ready to bring it to the donation bin near her flat after her night out with Sherlock. She planned on going shopping tomorrow and buying an almost entirely new wardrobe. She truly had earned it.

After checking the clock (she still had another full hour to kill before getting ready), she headed back into her bedroom and cleaned up jewellery box, and hung up some pictures of her and Sherlock she'd been meaning to for months. A few twinkling lights when up around the baseboards of her room, and up top near the ceiling, rearranged her room once again, and then dropped onto her bed.

Soon enough, she began getting ready for the date. She curled her hair into soft, loose ringlets, adding just a bit of makeup to accentuate her eyes and cheekbones. Once she was finished that, she chose a simple yet elegant bracelet from her father before he'd died, and a necklace from her grandmother.

After tugging on her dress, noting how self-conscious she felt when it clung to her in all the right places, showing off her curves and wide hips, she sighed. She still wasn't quite comfortable with herself, but she supposed this was just a step in the right direction.

Molly found a pair of black ballet flats with little red stones, also in the back of her closet, and slipped them on. She swear they'd just appeared at some point, but she wasn't about to question it. Her mum did often shower her with gifts she genuinely thought would assist in getting her hitched and in turn pregnant.

She brushed her teeth and then applied a bit of lipstick, the shade she'd worn that day in the morgue, which made her sigh. After spraying on just a bit of her lemon and pomegranate scented body spray and fixing a bowed-headband into her hair, she was ready. She gave herself the once over in the mirror before collecting her purse and then sitting primly on the couch so as not to mess anything up.

Sherlock was just on time; six o'clock sharp. Molly's belly was writhing with nerves by this time, and she nearly jumped off the couch when he arrived. _Be cool and composed, Molly._ She reprimanded herself internally and took a deep breath, before striding to the door and pulling it open.

She smiled brightly at the scene in front of her. Sherlock wore a tie. An actual, proper tie. She'd never seen him in a tie before. His suit looked quite new, and the shirt was black, his tie red and matching her dress. The sight nearly made her squeal in delight. Sherlock was wearing a tie for her, and Sherlock was matching for her.

"Uh, hello." She shifted a bit and pressed her palms flat together.

Sherlock's eyes seemed to fully skim over every inch of her body, making Molly almost squirm. Thankfully, she held up both against his pressure and against his heavy scrutiny."I ascertained correctly." His voice seemed to have become more breathy, and he soon cleared his throat. "I mean, yes. You appear quite smashing." He shifted from foot to foot, seeming a bit uneasy, a light blush overtaking his cheeks.

It seemed that Molly had the potential to possess much power towards Sherlock in this little dress. She made a note to dress in this manner more often, although his gaze did cause a gentle blush to crawl up her neck and over her cheeks and ears.

She retrieved her purse and smiled brightly at him. "I'm ready. Shall we go then?"

"Mhm, I can see that," he murmured before shaking his head and snatching up her hand. She found it impossibly adorable that he had a fondness for holding her hand, and wasn't afraid to show her off in public. She'd dated a few of the like, where they would refuse to walk within a least thirty centimetres of her. But the difference was they weren't Sherlock Holmes, the famous consulting detective. In fact, they were just all around rubbish boyfriends and guys alike.

She squeezed his hand and smiled warmly up at him as they caught a cab. Oh, this had the potential to be a great night, even if he'd used the excuse of autopsy chat to get her out.

With that in mind, they drove to the restaurant, hands still clutched together.

* * *

**A/N: Just a heads up that the restaurant featured in the next chapter is purely fictional. I've never been to the UK before (going next year for the Doctor Who convention so yeee), so I have no real first hand knowledge of any restaurants, as I live in Canada. Thanks!**


	11. Dinner and Sex

**A/N: Just another reminder on the purely fictional existence of the restaurant that is about to be noted. Purely of my imagination, and not an actual restaurant in London. **

**Also, this one is extra long because you all are so lovely and I'm sorry for making you wait for such a long while.**

**Thanks and enjoy! Please leave feedback, as well! :)**

* * *

Molly nearly gaped widely at where Sherlock had taken her. She'd only dreamt about this place in passing, as it was one of the most luxurious restaurants in all of London, and definitely not something she could afford to eat at on her salary. Not that hers was particularly meagre, it was just that she was quite a saver and tended to bank away what was left of her pay each month.

When Sherlock gently tugged her inside, her eyes scanned over the name on the elegantly lit billboard, which read, "Thames View Restaurant".

The lobby was quite extravagant itself, with two elegant marble staircases leading up on either side to where people were sitting and eating. There was a gentle lull of piano forte in the background; quite an appetizing atmosphere. While Sherlock sorted out the reservation, Molly's eyes scanned over the other details.

There were waiters and waitresses wheeling around in carts of food, placed on dainty silver trays, with quite fancy dishes, dressed up with food. The air was permeated by the smell of ribs and steak and potatoes and other rich foods. She felt her stomach growl softly.

The carpet was a deep crimson akin to her dress, with rich gold embroidery thread lining many of the partitions of carpet. She wondered if Sherlock had made an unconscious association, or if it had been purposeful.

They were lead to a central elevator, and carried up to the floor marked with the number four. When the doors slid open and they all strode out, Maitre'd in the lead, Molly took in the gorgeous view of the Thames. There was quite a perfect view of London Bridge out of the tinted windows, and it all nearly took her breath away.

She noted the empty space and how their table was central in the room as Sherlock pulled out her chair and helped her sit. It appeared as if the room could seat many more people, and there were impressions in the carpet from tables and chairs, so it had all been cleared away.

"How much money did you spend to get this room alone?" she suddenly blurted out, blushing a tiny bit. Grr, she needed to stop with the blushing.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and took a dainty sip of the water already placed on the table. "The owner owed me a favour, So nothing, as of yet. We haven't eaten yet you know, Molly." he winks and she makes a face at Sherlock.

The waiter arrived soon after Molly had gotten settled, and took their orders. As she tried to speak, Sherlock immediately cut her off and began speaking in rapid French to the waiter, who appeared to be in his late forties.

Molly's lips twisted and she huffed softly, annoyed that she couldn't understand him and annoyed that he'd cut her off. The waiter left quickly, and Sherlock turned nonchalantly back to Molly.

She raised an eyebrow. Hadn't they talked about that a bit ago? Him treating her horribly.

He raised an eyebrow right back, but the waiter returned with a bottle of her favourite wine and breadsticks. Molly nearly squealed in happiness, but kept it all in. That was what they'd been saying? Oh, he could be so thoughtful and lovely some times. She absolutely adored him when he was like this.

As the waiter poured out the wine, Sherlock ordered for them. "I will have the Lobster Thermidore and Molly will have the Fettuccini Alfredo with extra sauce."

Molly sipped her wine and broke a bread stick in half, nibbling on it as the waiter headed off to place their order. "How on earth did you know that that's my favourite food?"

Sherlock's face remained impassive, and for a moment she thought he'd reveal that he was actually telepathic. "You told me."

Molly blushed profusely. "Oh…" she took a sip of her wine and bit into the other half of the bread stick. Sherlock simply chuckled.

They made idle banter, Molly commenting on how lovely the restaurant was, Sherlock commenting on how lovely _she _was. She couldn't keep the stupid blush away, no matter how hard she tried to combat it.

The entire night, Sherlock remained as sweet as ever, even feeding her a bit of his food off his fork. When they finally moved to discuss the autopsy results, Sherlock becomes akin to a child with a new toy, sending out rapid fire remarks and questions. On multiple occasions, Molly had to stifle loud giggles at just how childish and positively adorable he was being.

When they were all finished their food, Sherlock paid and helped her up, taking her hand and squeezing it affectionately. She merely smiled widely at him, as the evening was turning out to be so beautiful.

Once they were outside, into the brisk London air, Molly shivered ever so slightly. She tried to hide it, but it was no use. She was so surprised when Sherlock gallantly handed over his long coat, and she enwrapped herself in the warm folds.

They took a stroll along the bank of the Thames, streetlamps over head causing the murky water to twinkle, and it reminded her vaguely of the lost city of Atlantis, her favourite story as a child.

Molly rested her head against Sherlock's shoulder, and he hummed contentedly, much to her delight. She broke the silence. "Do you want to come back to mine tonight? I can make coffee and… we can watch telly." She still wasn't sure where they were in their relationship, if he wanted to have sex again, so she didn't want to push it.

Sherlock glanced at her, eyebrow raised, which he quickly lowered and gave a little shrug with the shoulder not occupied by her head. "John's with Mary tonight."

Molly twisted her lips a bit. "Shall I come to yours then?"

He nodded. "If you wish."

She nodded with him. "Okay. That sounds nice."

Sherlock didn't reply, only hailed a cab as they reached the end of the walkway and headed back towards the streets. She was thankful that he always seemed to have great cab luck. Seriously, what _wasn't _Sherlock good at?

They sat in amiable silence, gripping each other's hands as they rode to Baker Street. When they arrived, Sherlock tossed a few notes at the cabbie and helped her from the cab, unlocking the door as Mrs. Hudson was also away, at her sisters.

Molly hung up Sherlock's coat and kicked off the shoes, climbing up the steps before Sherlock. She was suddenly very aware of his gaze upon her bum, as he received quite a view as he climbed behind her. She heard a small intake of breath come from him, and blushed deeply.

He cleared his throat as she sat down, legs crossed. "Tea?" She nodded and suddenly felt horrifyingly awkward in her boyfriend's flat. They had been dating for over three months, yet she never did traverse Baker Street frequently. He always seemed to come over to her flat.

She glanced around the room as he busied about in the kitchen, which was odd because she'd never seen him in such a tizzy in her entire life. She nearly gasped, remembering she hadn't worn any knickers, as the dress was too tight and all would have been revealed.

Her face was super heated as he entered the room once again, this time brandishing dainty tea cups that looked like they fit perfectly into his hands. God, he was so posh.

Molly thanked him as he handed her the cup, their fingers brushing. She barely noticed the shiver that went through him, and looked at him with wide eyes. As soon as this occurred, though, it was gone without a trace. So, she shrugged it off.

He sat down beside her on the couch, which was odd because she hardly ever saw him seated there. She supposed it would be odd if he sat across the room from her in his chair because he was her boyfriend, but still.

Sherlock tapped his long, musician's fingers on his thighs for a moment, before he glanced to her. "Let's have sex."

Molly nearly spat out her tea in surprise. "Sherlock! Tact!"

He simply shrugged. "What's the point of saying it in a round about way? I want to have sex with you, and you no doubt as well, considering the way you've been looking at me for the past few minutes. What's the point of dancing around it?"

Molly shot him an exasperated look and wiped her mouth on a napkin. She noticed his eyes dart to her cleavage as she leaned over to drop the tissue onto the coffee table. She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but you could at least say it tactfully."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "So, is that a no?"

Molly nearly dropped her tea cup, so she quickly placed it on the coffee table beside her discarded napkin. "I didn't say that."

Sherlock smirked, which was cut off immediately by her mouth on his. She'd been waiting for him to say something, even if she wouldn't openly admit it, verbally or otherwise.

Sherlock was surprised, but immediately adjusted and hummed softly against her lips, leaning back and pulling her up onto his lap. Molly put her knees on either sides of his thighs and ground herself against him, eliciting a small, delightful gasp into her mouth as she deepened the kiss.

Sherlock immediately took control and pressed his tongue deep into her mouth, and he moved to flip her over, which caused them both roll off the couch. Molly broke the kiss and burst into a fit off giggles on the floor. His deep baritone chuckle sounded near her ear, which caused her to shiver unintentionally.

He attacked her neck with those beautiful lips, sucking on the taught, milky flesh, biting and licking every so often, causing Molly to gasp. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him tighter against him, tugging at the buttons on his shirt.

Once all of the buttons were open and he'd thoroughly sucked and bit at her neck, she pressed his shirt off his small shoulders and then proceeded to attack his neck, in turn.

Sherlock groaned softly and slid his hands appreciatively up her sides, then pushed her up a bit as she bit down gently, causing a small moan to escape his lips unintentionally.

Molly's fingers spread over the tautness of his chest as he slid open the zipper on her dress and pushed it down, to around her ankles, letting out an appreciative groan as he began to kiss the mounds of her breasts.

She arched into him, gasping softly at his ministrations, winding her fingers into his curls to spur him properly on. She nudged one of her knees up between his legs and bumped against his crotch, eliciting a small growl deep within his throat, which caused heat to pool between Molly's legs.

"Bedroom. _Now,_" Sherlock growled which immediately caused her to spring up, despite her wobbly legs, and to drop onto the bed, legs spread.

Sherlock arrived shortly there after, no clothes in sight, causing Molly to squirm with want as he crawled predatorily towards her. She let out a soft squeal as he bit down gently on one of her nipples, dipping a hand between her legs and then inserting a finger inside of her.

Molly's hips writhed a bit and she murmured his name softly, so he inserted another finger, pumping slowly. She glanced down to him and raised an eyebrow. "How do you - OH - did you do research - oh my God," she panted and cupped one of his bum cheeks.

Sherlock grinned and nodded, sliding down her body, planting hot open mouth kisses along her torso as he went. He withdrew his fingers and made a show of licking them off, causing her to gasp softly. When he was at the place she wanted him to be in between her legs, he kissed around and along her thighs, even just above her entrance, but never completely on.

Molly groaned in frustration and bucked her hips up gently, trying to get him where she wanted him to be at. "Sherlock!" she squealed, causing his eyes to dart up to hers darkly.

"Don't say anything. Keep your mouth shut and legs open." She was about to protest about him treating her like that but he gave her a little lick as punishment, causing her to gasp and stay very still, wanting, no, _needing _more. That was when Sherlock finally parted the lips leading to her most sensitive parts, and then began to press kisses to her. Molly gasped out softly, which spurred him on. She could feel him poking into her calf, hot and heavy and quite hard.

He paid quite a lot of attention to her clit for a few minutes, sucking and biting gently, before moving down to her opening and shoving his tongue inside, curling it up, causing Molly to pant and moan and writhe against him. He had such a beautiful mouth, and an equally as beautiful tongue. She looked down to him, and he gazed up at her, and the erotic scene caused her to climax quite hard.

Sherlock lapped up all she had to offer, before sliding up her torso and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, though his chin still glistened. Molly wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down to her, licking off his chin and cheeks, causing him to groan. He was now resting just below her belly, and she could feel him slicken, the drop of pre-cum sliding against her stomach.

"That's really hot," he whispered somewhere near Molly's ear, causing a shiver to erupt down her spine. "You licking my face and lips like that."

"Mmm," she whispered, though she felts slightly shaky. "Sounds like someone has a fetish."

Sherlock only smirked at her and kissed her neck, lining himself to her and parting her legs wider. Molly suddenly stopped him. "Do you have any condoms?" Sherlock groaned and shook his head.

The thought of unprotected sex made Molly's stomach roll with unease, but she shrugged it off. "It's fine. I'm on the pill anyways."

Sherlock nodded eagerly and pushed inside of her. The added slickness from her earlier orgasm provided sufficient natural lubricant, and he was able to penetrate her with ease, sliding up into her with small groans from either of them.

"So tight," he whispered and dipped his head down to suckle her ear lobe. Molly only moaned softly and arched her hips into his, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist.

Sherlock built up a steady rhythm, moving inside of her with ease, Molly clawing every so often at his back, him dipping his head down to suckle on those beautiful breasts of hers. Eventually, they both could feel the burning, winding sensation building deep inside of them. Sherlock, like the gentleman he hid often, dipped a hand between them and began to furiously rub at her clit, urging her on. Finally, it was all too much for her, and she came with a loud cry of his name.

Sherlock followed not long after, and let out a soft groan, filling her up and collapsing against her.

They laid there for a few minutes, both attempting to collect themselves, panting and gasping softly. Finally, Sherlock pulled out of her and rolled to the side, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her against him. She curled into him and kissed up his forearm affectionately, radiating in the after glow.

After a moment, Sherlock broke the silence. "How does a picnic sound? Tomorrow, Hyde Park?"

Molly smiled to her self and nodded against him. "A picnic sounds lovely."

Sherlock gently kissed the back of her head and brushed back her fringe. "Goodnight, darling."

Molly nodded. "Goodnight." She tugged the blanket up around them and was out like a light in no time at all.


End file.
